


...And Will Do None

by Crowgirl



Series: On the Strength of the Evidence [22]
Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9340637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: ‘No. No, they’ve kept you pretty well under.’





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mary_Jane221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Don't Ever Ask Me Not To Save You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9334307) by [Mary_Jane221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/pseuds/Mary_Jane221B). 



‘Boots,’ Sidney says, loudly and clearly and, in so doing, wakes himself up. 

He blinks at a white ceiling that is not his bedroom or Geordie and Cathy’s and wonders why he has the feeling that he had better not move. The only sound he can hear is a distant hum that sounds like machinery; otherwise, the world is unnervingly silent.

The only way to find out where he is and what he’s doing there is to move, so he tries, tentatively levering himself up on one elbow. As soon as he does, pain clenches his right side together like a vice and he gasps.

‘Don’t _move,_ y’great gawp--’ Geordie appears like magic at the bedside and Sidney would like to laugh at the sight of him, shirt collar open and twisted, shirt so rumpled it looks like he pulled it on un-ironed and then slept in it, and his hair sticking up in at least three separate directions. But he can’t laugh because the breath has been punched out of him by pain. He grabs Geordie’s hand and squeezes as hard as he can because for one terrifying moment it feels like he will never catch his breath again.

Geordie’s other hand is on his shoulder, gently easing him back against the pillows and then he lets Sidney have that hand, too, and waits silently until Sidney manages to drag in one breath, then another, then another. 

Sidney makes himself release Geordie’s fingers, noticing dimly that Geordie’s fingertips have gone white from the grip of his own hands. Geordie shakes out his hands with a grimace. ‘Be _told_ for once in your life, won’t you?’

‘No-one told me anything,’ Sidney points out breathlessly, wincing as something in his side pulls with each breath. Bandages. Tape. Stitches. ‘Where am I?’

‘Hospital.’ Geordie glances around and the corners of his mouth pull down for a moment. ‘Same room I was in, though I’m pretty sure they didn’t mean it for a joke.’ 

Sidney rolls his head on the pillow and sees the same window he remembers staring out of for so many hours. The same chair is still sitting by it, too. The tree outside is just budding now; it had been in full leaf then. He’s starting to be able to feel the rest of his body now, miscellaneous aches and pains up and down his back, a dull throb in his left thigh that is probably a bruise, and he remembers--- ‘Please tell me you arrested him.’

Geordie snorts. ‘’Course I did.’

Sidney rolls his head back. ‘Without roughing him up too badly?’

Geordie avoids his eye, taking far too much care over sitting down in the narrow chair next to the bed and tugging his shirt straight.

‘Geordie?’

‘The man broke into your church, nicked half the silver, _stabbed_ you--’ Geordie leans forward, enumerating each point with a jab at the mattress and stops himself abruptly.

‘Is that what happened.’ Sidney lets his eyes close with a sigh. ‘I’ve never been stabbed before.’ If he concentrates, he can feel the bandage pulling on the skin over his ribs. It isn't a particularly pleasant feeling, so he doesn't concentrate.

‘Well, please don't make a bloody habit out of it,’ Geordie says. ‘I’m too sodding old.’ 

Sidney tries to laugh but the muscles of his right side convulse painfully at the attempt and he flinches from the pain, digging his fingers into the sheets.

‘No, no, come on--’ Geordie’s hands come warm around his, giving him something to hang on to, and he does, gratefully, until the cramp subsides and he can breathe evenly again.

‘What day is it?’

‘Tuesday.’ 

‘How long’ve you been here?’

‘Mmm, on and off since they brought you in.’ Geordie clears his throat and adds, ‘Cath made me go home and get some sleep over Sunday night.’ His hands tighten around Sidney’s and he goes on quickly, as if Sidney had remonstrated with him: ‘You weren’t ever -- We didn’t leave you alone. She stayed when I went and Leonard and Mrs Maguire’ve come in. You weren’t on your own.’

Later, Sidney will work out from the others just how much of that time had been Geordie on his own, in the special bleakness of a hospital night. After what he had told Geordie about the military hospital, the empty recovery ward, he knows Geordie would have hauled the others in by the scruff of the neck if he had to. Sidney hopes he didn’t have to.

‘Leonard was reading you something when I came in this morning,’ Geordie says, an obvious attempt to lighten the moment. ‘No idea what he was on about -- thought he was maybe trying to bore you into waking up.’

Sidney smiles without opening his eyes. He can’t remember closing them. ‘I don’t remember hearing anything.’

‘No. No, they’ve kept you pretty well under.’ Geordie’s fingers tighten again. ‘Didn’t want you moving around and tearing out stitches.’

‘Mmm.’ Sidney wants to ask more questions, wants, if nothing else, to turn and look at Geordie, but his eyelids are so _heavy_ that it doesn’t seem worth the effort to lift them.

‘And there you go again…’ Geordie’s voice seems to come from a greater distance, but Sidney can still feel his hand and, briefly, a warm touch on his forehead. The feeling is gone too soon and he mumbles a protest. Geordie laughs softly and Sidney hears the chair creak and feels the dry press of Geordie’s lips on his.

‘Get some sleep,’ Geordie murmurs against his mouth and the chair creaks again.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Shakespeare's [Sonnet 94](http://www.bartleby.com/70/50094.html); the full line is "They that have power to hurt and will do none."
> 
> [This now has the proper prelude.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11202447/chapters/25019970)


End file.
